Kismet was closer than ever to elder scorpion morph. A matter of time was all it was. Considering the steps in preparation it took, it was odd to see him so…impatient. This chase neared millennia but never once in that span was he within the distance to salivate as he currently was. It was he thought about. Only hours removed of Sinclair and Eals visit, he could sit idle no more. “Vhadgeid, you’ve arrived I assume.” “I have.” “Excellent, I will say this once. Administer order. Do as you see fit under Ak’Neshian code…” Despite how Silexies flaunted his control over Sinclair he knew it was wise to surveillance everything he took part in. This meant ensuring he knew everything that was going on. It was perhaps the perfect opportunity to test the current Vhadgeid’s intention as her apprenticeship was approaching its end. Cigány Cnidaria was now at Gereza. Intersecting glyphs crossed Cigány’s pupil lacking eyes and lined her entire frame symmetrically. Long sea anemone like extensions protruded from her back, sides and head, forming a multicolored weave of a braided mane and majestic wings. Her legs were unproportionally long and bird like. Many considered her to be the pinnacle of Cizran beauty. Her flamboyant appearance was an invite to many to marvel but it came with its risks. Any sexual partner of hers eloped with death afterwards. Many types of spiritual energies and genes were sapped from her mates and stored within her in hope to ideally birth the next evolution of Cizrans. Should she ever be democratically elected to do so she’d trigger her pregnancy and develop an advanced fetus. For now her pudenda remained a graveyard of former Cizrans. It was a great honor to have mated with a Cizran Hyacinth but her succubus-like tendencies were not to be displayed in the immediate future. As a Vhadgeid, Cigány had been assigned to knowingly cover her superior’s tracks as her last act of duty. Though much of her thoughts questioned the Elder’s actions the Ak’Neshian code prohibited speaking out as it was clear Silexies wanted to utilize the tool for the presumed good of all Cizrans. Until he provided her reason to believe the opposite she had no reason to strike him down. She arrived accompanied by a Cizran Escadrille and took no time to throw the entire faculty in disarray. By custom they were to prepare for a Vhadgeid or anyone higher beforehand should they visit. “Unacceptable…” she scoffed At first sight of her from a distance a swarm of Gerzas guards flew out the gates to serenade her as a part of their formal introductory customs. Despite this she was mildly angered. To show her unsatisfactory Cigány closed her eyes which signaled she was about to enter. Guard after guard laid down in her path, forming an entrance mat only to have their backs lacerated by her obsidian talons. Even as she finally reached the end of the path made mat they were still not permitted to rise until she officially left the room. “Where is Sinclair, and why were preparations not met for my arrival. ” “Vhadgeid, I assure you no notice was sent out and Sinclair has left on investigational matters directed under Silexies” Front desk secretary Yamel Tao’Zoag spoke. Of course she knew this already.He spoke the truth. There was no notice sent out but Cigány simply lied and at that moment someone would be deemed liable for the miscommunication. “I do not accept that answer. Find who is responsible, Yamel” Cigány barked with conviction. Someone would have to take the fall, even if there was no one virtually at fault. Perhaps it would be one of the several hundred and easily disposable servitors drowned in meaningless paperwork. Only time would tell. Though Silexies’ apprentice made a huge scene it would be foolish to think she did not have personal agenda to follow. She would find out how much this prison knew in regards to Eal’s escape and she would find a cover. The high and mighty act was not all a façade, however. She did generally find pleasure in the way she conducted herself. The workers were in for a rough time. “Where is Mado-Keno?” --- “Suddenly I have what I desire.” This voice resonated in Kirri’s mind but it was unclear who it was or what the message meant. Utilizing the fire stone, many of the Killimaran’s questions were answered, but it came with its price. Unaware, he opened his soul to Kaan but the timing was what saved him in the end from falling to the same fate as the swordsman before him. He could sense him but…he couldn’t quite locate him. Reason so? Kaan had regained his strength to a point where could be felt wherever hatred was on Killimara. His essence was virtually [b][i]everywhere[/i][/b] but a stronger presence noticeably closed in on the alien warrior. Kirri’s mind was overwritten with all the knowledge he wanted to know, including how and why the situation reached such a point. It did not come easy on the heart, however. He could feel the very pulse of every Killimaran individually and he could sense that half now ticked at a different tune. Inside roughly a third existed a dark aura not natural to his species. Many of his species became meek puppets parading in plain sight ready to be flipped like a switch. Before Kirri could properly weigh his options his attention would be averted to the swordsman who had only just recently joined the fight unexpectedly beside him. The trio of Hellseeds and their army were not defeated by any means but a change in their aggressive behavior was apparent. For a moment the raging army of Hellseeds paused. They watched almost as if they were anticipating something and they were. And then, it happened… Lysander, the rowdy intruder arrived on Killimara for an insane task, to consume a Hellseed. He’d accomplish that today. His sword stood tall, simultaneously holding the enlarged flaming heart down while he began to absorb its power. His muscles became increasingly tense as he attempted to harness the influx of power. On the surface, it appeared the mission was a success! “I DID IT! HAHAHA. I ATE A HELLSEED. I AM THE BEST.” he continually boasted, completely unaware of what misfortune he willfully subjugated himself to. Maybe he’d realize when he couldn’t move his limbs but he was so high off the raw spectacle of his dream being fulfilled that he laughed hysterically. His world became dark. The scenery around him faded into a deep blackness. “Fall…” Instantaneously, the swordsman was brought to his knees. His high pitched laugh suddenly cracked, resembling an air horn before his body adopted a crippling state. One in which he could not longer properly speak. His words no longer had form, just obfuscated noises lashing out. His eyes no longer had splits in their lids and could not open. “Awth si paephning to me? Ihts hsoludn’t… be hpnapneig…” “This is what you wanted. A fiendish voice echoed.” A tall figure sauntered from what could be gauged as a dozen meters away. He could only sense the malicious intent. He didn’t even have the privilege of seeing his abuser. “You foolishly expose your soul and wage tug of war with a Demilich? Simply unwise. I am thankful for what you have given me, however. I have received collectively more than the majority of beings who inhabit this planet but you are at most a fool who is unworthy of damnation.” “Utb I ma hte best!!!” “Silence…” After hearing such he could barely sustain consciousness. At this point the swordsman was leaning on his own sword for support. Menacingly standing over his body, Kaan placed his grotesque hand on Lysander’s head to relay a message. Aside from absorbing his and the swords energy he had one final task for him. Kirri could only watch the man be slain by an invisible apparition. The strongest sense of Kaans energy was right before him and thus he’d be drawn to it. When an entirely different voice vibrated out of the throat of the swordsman it was clear who addressed him. “Kirri… What will you decide? Will you continue to resist my influence? I have regained much of my power in such a short time. You cannot realistically hope to oppose me at the cost of your clan. The iscariotic feelings you sense in them are indeed permanent but you can extinguish the threat albeit you give a sacrifice of those already tainted. Malicious I am, but greed is something that escapes me. A small patronage is all I desire for the salvation of your species. Take this gift and do as I asked. What you do afterwards with it is entirely up to you.” Before Kirri could answer, Lysander began to move again, coughing up liters of blood. His eyes, rolled well beyond backwards and it was apparent something was lodged in his throat. His hands forcefully entered his mouth and removed a folded page of archaic glyphs and inscriptions. It was bloodstained but power instilled within it was also codependent on the wielders will of mind. It could be the catalyst for scaling manipulation depending on the user. It left the hands of the man and made its way to Kirri, unfolding in the process. The sword wielder finally fainted, planking on the desert floor. He wasn’t dead but he has served his purpose. Here in Kirri’s hand was an entire page of Aldaraia. The entire fate of Killimara. What will he do? --- Outside of the chapel’s walls, two silhouettes conversed in a curtain of dusk. They were unseen, unsettled and unsure which course of action to move forward with. Opposing ideals and personalities’ were on full display, but the reality of how difficult the task they were assigned dejected their spirits. Neither soul had conviction in their opposites’ aptitude. Cooperation was key but bound to fail. Polluting the air were spiteful ambitions and intentions. Should they combine their efforts it was possible but should was an often a mere word of futility. It is a word often associated with what ended up not happening. It belonged in a parallel universe. It belonged ironically within another dimension of space, as did Eal Sermonde. At least this was how Ichor viewed the obstacle proposed. He desired the coordinates and to banish Sermonde back to his Cell. The prospect of that idea was shot down by the feeling that a real bout would erupt between them here and now. One he could not win without disposing of his faux Cizran form. A fallout of that magnitude would no doubt bring unwanted attention to his superior. As much as he longed for Silexies’ demise an action like that exposed him also and to risk that for this individual would be uncharacteristically undisciplined of him. He thought hard to calculate a solution. The only option was the use his political clout for an unauthorized departure to the desired location. So many options… Perhaps a Wraith.